Ajisai (Hydrangea) Season

I grew up as a "Flores de Mayo baby".

Most probably, I learned how to sing the Flores de Mayo songs right before I even learned to sing any other songs. But, if there was one thing that you should never mess with me back then, aside from my off key belting out of Hiligaynon songs, was my afternoon halad (floral offering). We took the preparations of our halad to a different level of "floral geekiness", mind you. Right after lunchtime, we would go around our small garden to look for fully bloomed flowers, or we would even take the pains of walking around the neighborhood, under the sweltering heat of the May sun, to look for wildflowers or go ask to pick some from the untended gardens of our kind neighbors. And, when I had already branded the flower as "mine" no one should dare claim it, too, or that would have meant the start of a war I never would have backed out from.

However, here's the catch: of all the flowers that we were allowed to pick from our mother's and aunt's garden, there was one forbidden plant--- only to be admired from a specific distance. I even made it my personal rule to never touch it, lest I would be tempted to break the blooms from its stem. 😂 The blooms of those prized potted plants were never meant to be picked. They were just meant to bloom there snottily on their clay pots and to be shown off to neighbors and guests until the day all those tiny little pink and blue petals turn brown. As a 10 year old kid that time, with my 10 years' worth of childhood wisdom, there was only one thought that would cross my mind every time I was tempted to secretly pick the million flowers' bloom (Redundant, eh? I grew calling the whole plant "million flowers", that's why.) and would then dream of putting a tiny ribbonette around its delicate stem: WHAT A WASTE OF BEAUTIFUL BLOOMS! In my 10 year old mind, a flower in May, left to wither without being picked to be offered during the Flores de Mayo paghalad, was a waste of precious blooms.

So, imagine how awed I was when I found out that here in Nagasaki, the prized plants of my mother and aunt, are actually growing everywhere! And, I literally mean everywhere!

If truth be told, this was actually my 10-year old self's dream come true.

(Note: Hydrangeas are in full bloom around end of May to mid-June.)

Easter Anecdote

It's amazing how little acts of kindness can reaffirm our belief in the goodness of the human spirit despite the differences in culture, language, and history.

Before Easter ends, here is my Lenten anecdote:

Last Good Friday, as a yearly "panata", I went to a nearby church to do the Stations of the Cross. However, most of the Churches here in Japan are deemed, more of as historical artifacts than places of worship--- which is perfectly understandable when you take their history as a nation into consideration. Because of the barricade separating the entrance area of the Urakami Cathedral from the pews and the altar, I was already content standing in one corner near the cathedral's door. The case is, tourists are not allowed to cross the barricade and can only take photos of the interior of the church from the area near the door.

While I was quite unmindful of the several groups of tourists that entered, took photos, and went out of the cathedral, a Japanese church attendant walked towards me (he probably noticed that I stayed inside the church for more than the usual time that a typical tourist spends inside) and muttered something very quickly in Nihonggo. I thought that he was informing me that they were about to close the cathedral since it was already several minutes before 5 o'clock in the afternoon. When I was about to tell him that he should not worry because I was about to finish, I was deeply humbled right there and then--- the church attendant unhooked one of the hanging barricade from its metal stand and motioned me towards the pews. He was actually telling me that I can finish my prayers inside, which normally, is a restricted area for tourists.

I cannot be considered a very religious person if the measure would be following of certain church rites and activities, but right there and then, in a simple act of breaking protocols and in showing an act of kindness, my belief that God, Yahweh, Allah, the Divine Source, or whatever we may call Him depending on our beliefs, is actually present not in grand occasions but more so in simple, everyday acts which allow us to transcend the divisive force of differences in race, culture, language, and even religion.

Spring

I am in love with spring.

Although I have a deep attachment with autumn for the reason that it is nature's exact projection of my intuitive and melancholic temperament, I love how spring is the antithesis and therefore, becomes the balancing energy to my own.

Spring is so simple--- its colors and scents have all the appeals of freshness and almost childlike zest. I notice that as I move forward in life, I lean, more and more, towards choices which are uncomplicated. Life is short--- and, occasional what-am-I-here-for conversations would usually revolve around this idea until almost routine-like, we would always arrive at the same conclusion that moving forward in life with less baggage and complications is the way to go. Needless to say, I love spring for the simple reason that it is uncomplicated.

On a deeper account which is rooted to my innate melancholic temperament, I am in love with spring because it is nature's way of showing that after a dreary season, there are such things as extraordinarily beautiful as rebirth and healing.